He continued unabated toward her, his stride not slowing, his path not veering in the direction of the sitting area. And he never once spoke.
Catherine’s nerves reached fever-pitch levels by the time he came within touching distance. “Would you like—” The rest of her question remained lodged in her mouth, of which his had taken complete and absolute possession.
Flush against his hard chest, Catherine was suddenly locked in his arms, his hand clasping the back of her head and kissing her with such blatant hunger, thinking became impossible. All she could do was feel—the slippery slide of his tongue against her, her nipples hard and pointed against the solid wall of his chest.
Pulling his mouth from hers with a throaty groan, he whispered, “This is what I’d rather.” With that he began to wreak havoc down the side of her neck.
Catherine emitted a breathy moan as pleasure cut through her like a knife. Good God how she’d missed this, him, his mouth on her, his hands on her body. And it had been only five days since they’d last made love.
Her movements were fervent and frantic as she ran her hands through his hair, nipping the lobe of his ear in a tender love kiss. One would think Lucas was being tortured by the groan she wrung from him.
“Christ, I missed you,” he said on a labored breath.
“I missed you too.”
It had taken Esther five minutes to lace up her corset and help her into her dress. Lucas was able to loosen the bodice in less than one minute, his fingers deftly working from layer to layer until the air hit the aching tips of her breasts.
No sooner had they found freedom that Lucas’s hand cupped them in his large hands and drew a nipple into his mouth.
Catherine nearly slid to the floor, her knees unable to support her. But Lucas had her, gripping her tight about the waist as he bent her over his arm and feasted on her breast. He sucked the tip deep, swiping it repeatedly with his tongue.
At her center where pleasure and relief beckoned, a hot rush of moisture dampened her undergarments. Before rational thought abandoned her completely, she remembered where they were. God Lord, a servant could walk in any moment.
“Lucas, w-we can’t here,” she gasped, valiantly fighting against the inexorable pull of desire and lust.
“The door is locked and the servants have retired for the evening,” he said around her nipple, sending another current of pleasure to her sex. Her mind gave up the fight, permitting her body to surrender to sensation.
Lucas picking her up and laying her down on the sofa seemed to occur as if Catherine were in a dream, but his mouth peppering a trail of kisses from one breast to the other told her how real it was.
“I’ve been thinking of nothing else these last four days,” he muttered, his voice dark, almost angry now. As if he resented the time they were apart. Sucking the pink ruched bud into his mouth, he resumed the task of divesting her of her undergarments.
Desperate to touch his bare skin, Catherine tackled the buttons on his shirt but was forced to stop frequently when pleasure became too much for her. With only half the job done, she had to abandon it completely when his hands easily parted her thighs—now unhindered by cotton, lace and silk—and found her center wet and throbbing.
Oh dear God.
Catherine’s hips jerked high as pleasure slammed into her with such force, it left her helpless, incoherent, reeling. Panting, she tried to catch her breath only to relinquish it when he slid two fingers into her tight sheath, his thumb playing with the nub of her sex.
“Have you been kissed here?” he asked, his voice a dark purr promising untold bliss.
Catherine gasped in alarm, torn between repugnance and desire. Kissed her there? Certainly not. Did men do that? And which depraved women permitted such a thing?
His gaze flicked from between her legs to her face. She shook her head wildly, sending hairpins flying and golden curls swirling about her shoulders.
A most wicked smile slowly crept across his face. He gathered her petticoats and skirts, fisted them in his hands, and pushed them up until the cotton and satin material cleared the gentle flare of her hips. Catherine watched wide-eyed, trying desperately to raise herself into a sitting position as he pushed her legs apart. She then watched helplessly as he kissed her there.
Catherine instantly collapsed onto her back, her chest heaving. His mouth parted and his tongue began to work her flesh. Bliss nearly crippled her, coming in unrelenting torrents of sheer rapture. He pleasured her without mercy or care for her sensibilities.
She didn’t find her peak, it found her, sending her hurtling, twisting, and heaving into the orgasmic stars. His mouth, his tongue continued to play with her, more soothing now as if he understood what she needed to make the descent with her body and mind intact.
It wasn’t until she drew a deep shuddering breath that she became aware of just how she looked, spread out on the sofa, the front of her skirt hiked up, the top of her dress bunched around her waist, her breasts bared and rosy where his bristled jaw had scraped it. She looked every inch the wanton, but this time it didn’t embarrass her.
Eyes heavy with desire, she stared up at Lucas. His jaw was tight and his nostril flared as his eyes devoured her. Dropping her gaze to the distension of his erection in the front of his trousers, she reached out to touch him there, shaping his hard length in her hand. She loved the feel of him.
He made a growling noise in the back of his throat, pushing himself into her hands. This is what she wanted, this—she gave a squeeze that elicited a tortured groan—inside her. She stared directly into his eyes and pushed herself up on her elbows. “Stand,” she said in a voice that was not her own. It belonged to a woman whose sexual needs had taken control of her thoughts and actions.
If Lucas had ever heard a woman drunk with desire and the power she knew she wielded over a man, this was it.
But he didn’t think about disobeying her and came to his feet. His legs nearly gave away from beneath him and his cock was so damn hard, it was a physical pain. If he didn’t get inside her, he may just go insane—that is if he wasn’t already.
Sitting up, Catherine tackled the buttons on his trousers, but the feel of her fingers against his cock made it clear he’d have to do it himself. He simply didn’t think he’d be able to last.
“But I want to,” she protested when he brushed her hands aside.
“Believe me,” he said, his voice hoarse, “it’s better this way. You just need to lie back, keep your legs spread just the way they are. I’ll try to make it good for you,” he said, hoping he could last that long.
Desire flared hot in Catherine’s eyes when he pushed his trousers and undergarment down to his upper thighs, springing his erection.
She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and he was on her, his appetite for her at that moment, bigger than he could have ever imagined. He wanted to arouse her again, give her another orgasm, but his need was too great.
Placing his knee between her legs, he slid his hands under her buttocks. The sight of her, pink and soft, wet and glistening from her recent pleasure, sent him over the edge.
He grasped his cock in his hand and guided it to her entrance. He ran the head down the seam of her sex, teasing her, torturing himself more than a little. She let out a whimper as her hands clutched at his shoulders trying to pull him down on top of her. Her hands trailed down his sides until she reached his hips and then she tried to force him into her.
Lucas let out a pained laugh, tearing his gaze from the erotic sight of his cock sweeping up and down her moist center, he stared into her passion-drugged eyes and thrust. He slid smoothly in to the hilt and all he felt was tightness and excruciating pleasure.
“Jesus Christ, Catherine,” he groaned, teeth gritted.
His impending orgasm couldn’t be stayed as long as he had hoped—long enough to bring her to pleasure. Levered above her, his arms taut and straight above her shoulders, he pulled out and pounded back into her.
She let out a
tiny shriek and her hands, having pushed under his shirt, contracted at his waist, sinking her fingernails into his flesh.
He barely felt it but had he hurt her? “Are you alright?” he asked, praying to hell she was because he didn’t know if it was humanly possible for him to stop now.
A mewling sound escaped her lips. “More. Faster.”
She didn’t have to tell him twice.
Lucas thrust into her again and again, the wet clasp of her body holding him tight. Pleasure skewered him in half before pulling him under. His orgasm seemed to go on forever, holding him tight in its clutches the same way her body did him.
After he convulsed his way to completion, his body sated—for now—and weak like that of a broken man, he had to resist the urge the slump down on top of her as there was no room on the sofa to sprawl out beside her.
Gently rubbing her belly, he pulled out of her. She gave a mournful whimper. Her eyes were mere slits and passion-drugged. If they had been somewhere else—his bed or hers preferably, any bed for that matter—there’d unquestionably be another round.
“God, Catherine,” he whispered softly, lovingly.
God how I love this man.
Sated, Catherine lay on her back, her hands slowly running up and down Lucas’s shirt-clad back as she tried to catch her breath. She could stay like this with him forever, minus the extraneous garments of course. But forever wasn’t possible and a couple minutes had to suffice.
“Come, we must get you home before it grows too late.” His voice was gritty, his beautiful eyes heavy-lidded. He looked like he would love to have her again and the tingling between her legs indicated she was amenable to that.
But of course he was right. They’d taken enough risks as it was. He quickly fixed his undergarments and trousers in place while Catherine watched in unabashed bemusement. He then helped her up into a sitting position.
It took a minute or so for the post-coital weakness to wear off. And when she had regained her strength, she began putting herself back together.
Initially, Lucas aided in the effort, helping her with her corset and the buttons on the back of her dress. For all the aid he rendered, he still managed to brush her breasts, his palms coasting lightly over her over-sensitized nipples before her bodice was finally in place. By the time it came to her undergarments, she found herself slapping his hands away—though only half-heartedly.
“Lucas, you must stop. We can’t—well you very well know—not again. Not now,” she said, now forced to fight her body as well as his hands when he insisted in ensuring her garter was properly in place.
Reluctantly, he withdrew his hands and held them up, his expression all feigned innocence. “I was only trying to help.”
Catherine’s heart squeezed and then she felt like it had doubled in size. “But you must help me with my hair. I’m sure the pins are everywhere.” Her gaze was already scouring the sofa and the floor for them. Before she could so much as budge an inch when she spotted several, Lucas was already bending to retrieve them.
It took several minutes—Lucas did not have her maid’s talent for hairdressing—to get her hair into the semblance of order before Catherine was satisfied that an observant servant wouldn’t look at her and know exactly what they’d been doing in the study.
Catherine peered up at him. Despite their recent intimacy, uncertainty and fear still weighed heavy on her chest. “Can I assume you’ve forgiven me?” she asked softly.
His expression became serious.
Perhaps that hadn’t been the right thing to say.
His hand came up to cradle her cheek in his palm. “I should not have reacted quite so rashly,” he said, speaking quietly.
Catherine let out a suspended breath. “No, it is I who should apologize to you as many times as you desire. What I did was—”
“Effective I hope,” he cut in, a crooked smile on his face. “I hope now you believe that I’m in love with you and not your sister. When we marry, Charlotte will officially become my sister but that is all I’ve felt for her almost since we met.”
If Catherine had retained even a sliver of doubt that he’d been telling her the truth all along, the last of it was washed away that minute. Sincerity and love shone bright in his eyes.
“Going forward, all I desire is that we love and trust each other. I shall be honest with you and will expect the same in return.”
Love, trust, and honesty.
Honesty. Honesty.
Catherine gathered her courage and charged on. “Before we are wed, there is something I believe you should know about me.”
Lucas looked at her warily with a hint of concern. “What is it?” he asked in a voice that invited her to confess her sins without fearing grievous repercussions.
“M-my mother was a—” she gulped “—was a slave.” She inhaled deeply before forging on. “We were told she was the illegitimate daughter of the Earl of Forsythe and a housemaid. She has a younger sister whose identity we discovered the year past. Our aunt lives not far from the manor and Charlotte and I see her regularly. That shall not change when we marry. She refuses to permit us to claim her but I still want a relationship, even if everyone believes it is that of seamstress and client.”
Lucas stared at her and at length said softly, “She must have been extremely fair.”
“We were told our grandmother was also much fairer than most blacks. And if one cares to look closely, Charlotte and I share a resemblance with our aunt. We were told she looks like our mother.”
“Then she must be beautiful.”
The look on his face, so loving, almost reverent, infused her with such joy—and relief—she remained speechless for many seconds, utterly overwhelmed by the love she felt for this wonderful man. He exceeded every expectation she could have ever had for the man she would love and she could not be more fortunate that he loved her in return.
Emotion clogged her throat and had tears welling in her eyes. She blinked and sent them spilling down her cheeks.
Cupping her face in his palms again, Lucas thumbed her tears away. “My darling, the matter of your birth matters nothing to me. Had your mother lived, she’d be as welcome to me as your aunt will. All that is important to me is who you are as a person and I know you are not only beautiful but you’re kind and good and giving. You haven’t a selfish bone in your entire person, which your good deeds have shown.”
You haven’t a selfish bone in your entire person.
Guilt and shame ate at her. He had no idea how wrong he was.
The tears she shed now were caused by her gut-wrenching knowledge of what she had done. And the courage she lacked for she didn’t have it in her to confess this to him. Not now. Her tears fell faster. She wished it was something she never had to confess in that she wished it was a sin she hadn’t committed.
“My darling, please don’t cry,” Lucas crooned and kissed her softly on her lips. “In his address two years ago, our president declared all men are created equal. Those were not just words to me. I believe that with all my heart. That you carry this burden with you only makes me love you more.”
Catherine wrapped her arms about his waist and held onto him as tightly as she could. She’d never heard more beautiful words and she’d never felt so utterly unworthy of his love.
With her face pressed against his chest, she wept.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Lucas had gone to Manchester the morning after she’d gone to his residence. He loathed to go but had already made the arrangements to inspect a textile mill he was thinking of purchasing. Catherine had been glad for the ball that evening, hoping it would get her mind off things she’d rather not think of, although she’d rather have spent the evening with Lucas.
After she, Olivia, and Meghan arrived at the ball and Mrs. Griffin and Miss Thomas drifted off to the corner to converse with the other chaperones, Olivia turned to her and said, “If things should not turn out well for Miss Shipley, I would appreciate your assistance in comforting
the poor girl. You are so much better at it than either of us.” She exchanged a look with Meghan, who nodded her agreement. “You have a manner about you that doesn’t leave the women feeling foolish. Words usually escape me and I can think of doing little else than patting them gently on the shoulder.”
“Yes, indeed you do,” Meghan chorused, nodding in staunch agreement, reminding Catherine, that from the first moment, they had been allies in this cause. Even Lucas had conceded that despite her questionable method, the test had been effective. And in this case, all she would be doing was offering Miss Shipley her sincerest sympathies if things did not work out as she hoped.
Therefore any protest she might have made at being wrangled into this assignment in any shape or manner died before it ever passed her lips.
“If it will make you feel any better, Miss Shipley is quite confident the gentleman will be able to resist Meghan,” Olivia said, fanning herself, her fan a perfect match for her chartreuse gown right down to the lace trim.
Catherine prayed that he would. “Do you know which one he is?” she asked, peering over Meghan’s bare shoulder to the dance floor.
“The fair-haired gentleman with the yellow daffodil in his lapel standing with Lord Essex and Sir Dalrymple to the right of the orchestra,” Olivia said, narrowing down Catherine’s search.
The ball was packed as Lady Summerville’s always were. Dancing had recently commenced, which helped thin the crowd milling on the periphery of the dance floor.
Catherine spotted him immediately and her heart sank like a proverbial stone in a pond. Not at the gentleman in question for his smile was as winsome as she’d ever seen on a countenance so handsome. He was tall, the same height as Lucas and her brother she gauged. No her trepidation was caused by the appearance of Lord Landry who’d just joined the trio. She hadn’t seen him since the incident with Miss North and wouldn’t have minded if it had remained that way. She still couldn’t forget how he’d looked at her during that fateful meeting. It had reminded her of a card player debating his next move. Wholly calculating.
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